開始の百合
by Facemeg
Summary: 'Kaishi no Yuri.' Ichigo reflects on the last few days of his life, surrounding the birth of his first child. A oneshot to cure a two-year writer's block. Ichihime.


Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

 **開始の百合**

 **Kaishi no Yuri**

He didn't drink often, but he figured – now, of all times, might be the most appropriate for it. He slumped down into the chair, squinting at the glass in his hands in the dim lighting of his apartment and took a long swig. The glass hit the table beside him abruptly and he leaned forward, his head in his hands. He wasn't sure how, or why, nor what he had done do deserve it, but the last few days of his life had been far different from what anyone had anticipated.

He thought about it. Only a few days ago, their home had been overflowing with warmth and excitement. They had taken trip among trip to the store, buying in last-minute things in preparation. He had kissed her goodbye at the door before he set off to work, and she waved as he got into the elevator, rubbing her swollen stomach, ready to burst. On his last day, he had thought of nothing but dropping by the flower store on his way home to give her a bunch of lillies. He greeted her at the door on his way in and presented the bouquet. She thanked him tearfully. They spent that last evening together, taking the time to relax while they still could.

The next day, the set off to the hospital. The doctor had decided that she ought to be induced before the baby got too big. After all, she wanted to give birth naturally, and it was better to avoid inviting complications in waiting for her to go into labour. So, at nearly thirty-eight weeks pregnant, she was induced.

He waited by her side, holding her hand tightly as the pain grew. She didn't get particularly worked up about it, she was excited for the baby's arrival – they had both wanted this for a long time. He could still vividly remember the day she told him that she was pregnant. She was buzzing, smiling endlessly with bright, flushed cheeks. She was never concerned about the responsibilities that came with the baby, she was born to be a mother. He, however, was stressed for a long time before he calmed down. He grew extra protective of her, was extra careful around her and extra observant of every move she made, waiting to swoop in and help. It took a series of baby care classes to see him confident in becoming a father.

The pregnancy had seemed to span a year to them. She had grown very big and become mostly immobile in the last few weeks. But she was unaffected by it all. It almost seemed that she didn't even think of herself as pregnant – her mind was only on the baby, the life she was nuturing. They had felt a little impatient at times, so they were glad to hear she was going to be induced.

He couldn't understand what had happened. He had gripped her hand so tightly through those long hours of labour.

They both knew the labour wouldn't be easy. Her mind was stronger than her body, and so when she developed a fever, she powered through it all. She insisted she was fine, that she knew she couldn't get through it without some discomfort.

It began to draw to an end after five hours had passed. The doctors were concerned that she hadn't already delivered the baby and gave a final offer of a caesarian section while they were still able to perform the surgery. She politely but firmly told them, through huffs and pants, that she felt she was nearly there and could still go through with the natural delivery.

He was nervous, but he thought everything would be over soon, so he waited. She began to lose consciousness a little, and he felt her pain as the labour exhausted her body. But then, before he knew it, a team of doctors and nurses were at the foot of her bed with a hospital crib as she was pushing.

She was possibly crushing the bones in his hand, but he was focusing on what was about to happen. He knew he had to take that part in, turn away from his wife's agony for just a moment to take in the experience. The light in the room suddenly became intense, and he heard a loud wail. He looked past her leg, where the doctor held the tiny human, beginning to wriggle and screech. He felt his mouth drop open, and he looked back to his wife, whose face had lifted completely. He saw her get a good look at the baby, and then drop her head back and close her eyes, which quickly began to run with tears.

He looked again at his daughter, at the bright ginger whisps atop her crown and burning red skin. She was disconnected from her mother and taken to the other end of the room, he watched how carefully they held her, supported her head, to put himself at ease. He looked back to his wife again and whispered her name. The sound was almost drowned by the baby's cries, but she looked up at him and smiled. Before several seconds had passed they broke out into grins. He leaned in and kissed her forehead, her cheek, and then her lips.

The baby was returned to them, swaddled in a blanket and placed delicately in her father's arms. The bundle opened up her eyes, her moans and whimpers fading. He couldn't look away from her dark grey orbs until they began to shift around, looking up at him and around the room. His wife gazed lovingly at the pair from beside him, and he passed the baby over. Their little family was complete, and they were so happy that they felt as if the moment would never end.

Friends and family were in and out briefly, gazing upon the baby but leaving quickly to let the new parents relax. They promised to return with flowers and cards, but they needed some immediate relaxation. The new family were too worn out to ignore orders, and so they settled down in the recovery room.

He wasn't sure at what point things had started to go downhill. He didn't pick up on the little pieces, like when had rubbed her ankles to ease the throbbing and when she had asked him to turn on the lights in the already harsh-lit room. She was dozing gracefully when it happened. He had the sleeping baby in his arms when she sat up quickly. Her hands flew up to her neck and tightened around her skin.

He fell out of his daydream and said her name. She looked over at him with panicked eyes, and everything became a blur, as if it was all a memory from an event he had already seen. He quickly lay the baby down and ran to her side. He saw her struggle, the desperate look on her face, but he didn't understand any of it. He slammed the emergency button so hard that the plastic case broke. He heard the baby cry as the staff rushed into the room. They surrounded her like a pack of vultures while he sat back, useless and unsure of what was happening.

He thought he was about to black out, thought perhaps he already had when he though he felt rain thundering down at his back.

After that, he felt as though he had barely been present. He just remembered his daughter's long, troubled cries and last glimpse he caught of his wife's face. Her eyes were closed, her skin was pale – yet she looked somewhat peaceful. Then it was covered.

Shortly after, he realized that she should have been there. She should still have been right beside him. But he couldn't see spirits any more. He had never before felt quite so weak, so purposeless without his powers.

He was engulfed in a warm orange glow. After that, he truly fell out of the world and slumped down in his chair, oblivious to what was happening around him. He didn't surface until two days later. He woke up in his bed, in their home. He was still shaking, waves of anxiety tearing through him. His eyes were streaming with anger. He didn't know how it had happened, how they had missed the signs.

A week passed before he could look at the child. A few days before he could talk again. He didn't know what to say when the doctor said it had been eclampsia. He was mostly angry because he couldn't stop it, a natural ailment. He felt empty, as if his chest was hollow once again, and every glance he spared at the baby seemed to widen it further.

He desperately wanted her to be with him, so he could wrap his arms around her and hold her there. She was a calming presence, and he hadn't once felt calm since the moment she sat up in the hospital bed. He knew she should've been there. Her spirit form was severed from her body in the human world. He drove himself crazy thinking that perhaps she was sitting right beside him. Nobody else would tell him anything.

His sisters stayed with him for a few days, to care for the baby. He couldn't bring himself to dive in to it right away. He knew had wanted a child at one time, but he wondered if he had mostly wanted a child for his wife.

They offered to take the baby away for a few days, to leave him to rest a little longer. So he found himself in that chair, staring into a glass. The room was deadly silent, and he began to cry again.

He couldn't comprehend it all, couldn't ingest what was going on. Everything had been going so well, he had a happy life with her. He wanted to bring her back, surely there must have been a way. To bring a spirit back to the physical world. But nobody would talk about it.

He tried to remind himself, everybody around him was sad. He spent a lot of time wallowing in self-pity and sorrow, but he wasn't the only one who was grief-ridden.

The child's name was Ayaka. Her mother had chosen her name long ago, even before she was born and before they knew her gender. But the child would grow up without her mother. He took a moment to think about it. He had to grow up for many years without his own mother, and it had been painful.

He had a daughter, suddenly. He smacked his hand over his eyes and took a deep breath. It felt very real, and he didn't know what to do with it. He wondered why he was sitting around in the darkness on a weekday evening, in an apartment surrounded by baby care items. There was a beautiful white wooden crib near the window, next to his seat. He had invisioned his wife leaning over the edge, singing to their daughter as she slept. Yet he had seen no such thing.

But it didn't have to be that way. If he sang to her, it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't heal either of them. He wasn't even sure that he wanted to sing to her, but perhaps it was the only way. The only chance to get something out of it all.

Of course, he wanted to laugh at himself, of course he had to raise her. He knew she was going to resemble her mother, and it was going to hurt like hell every time he saw her face. But she was his daughter, and even without her mother's presence, that fact remained.

She would've wanted him to. Even thought he couldn't see her, he knew her, he knew she was there and he wasn't quite sure how he hadn't thought about her feelings before. His wife had given everything she had to their child.

He was tempted to speak to her. If she was there, she was listening. He thought, surely, if every spirit that lingered in the human world had a purpose, hers was to see her husband raise her child. So he poured his glass down the sink, and put the bottle back in the cupboard.

He decided he would bring the baby back that evening, so he began to tidy the place up a bit. He turned on the lights, cleared up the dishes and stuffed the garbade into the recycle bags. He lay a clean blanket down in the crib.

He felt her warmth suddenly, as he flattened out the soft blanket and placed his wife's stuffed bear in the corner of the crib, the orange glow behind his back. He didn't know what he was hoping for, but when he turned around, it had disappeared. He didn't know if he felt sad, or perhaps comforted. Until he saw the vase of lilies on the table, revived, no longer drooping, looking as bright and full of life as when the petals first opened. And then he knew it was okay to smile.

* * *

 **A/N:** Aaaah I haven't written anything for such a long time. This is a new style of writing for me, so I'm not totally sure what I was doing or how I did it. I'm fairly happy with how it all came out at the end. I would really appreciate some feedback, tell me what you thought!

((This can also be found on tumblr, I uploaded it yesterday, my username on there is also facemeg))


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